


Here Lies The Abyss

by laveIIans



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laveIIans/pseuds/laveIIans
Summary: She stays, scanning the horizon, and just for a moment she imagines the Inquisitor running back into her welcoming arms. Let someone else deal with it, just this once.A minific about the quest from a romanced Josephine's perspective waiting back at Skyhold. The Inquisitor's physical description is left intentionally vague to allow you to imagine your own character in her place.





	1. Chapter 1

Josephine had bid her leave with a hug and sweet kiss goodbye, not daring to think that this would be something bigger than usual. _Just routine_ , she thinks as her lover bravely mounts her horse and rides slowly away, face grimly held forwards, attention fixed on the task ahead. _Just routine_ , she thinks, and yet _nothing_ is routine anymore. The Breach made that abundantly clear, and for all her efforts to retain a veneer of normality, she is reminded constantly of how much she could lose. She imagines it trickling through her figures, slowly dripping away, and it humbles her. It _terrifies_ her. This veil, this pretence becomes desperately thinner as each time the Inquisition comes closer to chaos, somehow managing to survive and thrive. Yet the odds are not in their favour, for who could dare to be successful against one who has proclaimed himself a god?

_The Inquisitor could do anything_ , she thinks stubbornly, and yet she knows it is just a desperate attempt to cling on to remaining hope. Her lover, though strong, beautiful, so kind, a beacon of goodness in a time of turmoil and pain, and so brave in the face of it all… her lover is just human, just mortal. Without the Anchor pulsing away on her hand, the Inquisitor would be nothing special. A tremendously talented woman in her own right, of course, but just that. No Corypheus, no conqueror, no destroyer, no mighty power to reshape the world like dough.

She is afraid too, Josephine realises: her Inquisitor bears the very weight of Thedas on her shoulders, and each waking day must struggle under the hopes for its survival. Without her, there would be no effective opposition for all the horrific evil the world has seen and faced. Were she to fail, to die on a mission or even fighting Corypheus himself, there would be none who would fill her shoes. There might be a few willing, Josephine concedes, but only _very_ few, and there is a huge difference between _would_ and _could_ , a gulf nearly as large as the Breach itself. _Thedas cannot survive on plucky optimism alone_ , she reminds herself and sighs.

It will be a long time without her lover. Far too long. She can feel the old fears creeping back into her head, the ones that resurface each time she has assured herself they are safely locked away, gathering dust: _what if she doesn’t survive this time?_

She refuses to think about it. Josephine Montilyet _will_ focus all her attentions on the meetings and negotiations that will inevitably take place in the Inquisitor’s absence, as they must anyway when she is needed elsewhere, and Josephine _will_ conduct herself with the utmost respect, the most cordial manners and all the attention she would otherwise give were her mind not overrun with worry. She tells herself this sternly, like one might a disobedient child, and these orders calm her. She _can_ do this. She _will_ do this. She _must_ do this.

It’s the last one she doesn’t like, the one that really drives it home. It makes everything feel less like a choice and more of a burden. Still, it is nothing compared to the things her lover must deal with, she admits. Josephine will face no danger writing her letters and dealing with nobles; the worst she could face would be either a papercut from parchment or a particularly barbed comment. There is no threat of physical violence, as Skyhold is too heavily fortified for that, and weaponry is only permitted on the guards when these meetings occur. She is always safe in her plump chair with her thick desk and thicker pile of paperwork, while the Inquisitor faces swords, arrows and spells on a near-daily basis.

She does not allow any of these thoughts to show when she waves her lover off, though; her face is a calm mask, all smiles and hope, widening her grin as the Inquisitor turns back briefly. She stays behind briefly until the party becomes a distant blur, briefly allowing herself to linger longer than is strictly necessary. For once, and just this once, she lets herself put off the return to the repetitive work, even though she knows its very nature will be like balm against her anxiety. She stays, scanning the horizon, and just for a moment she imagines the Inquisitor running back into her welcoming arms. _Let someone else deal with it, just this once_.

Then she exhales, walking back to her office and closing the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

The raven, when it arrives, is slightly soggy. It has travelled through the Hinterlands to reach them, and she suspects it may have been caught in a storm at some point. The report it carries is a little wet as a result, although nothing that a few minutes drying on the mantlepiece above her study fire couldn’t fix, and at any rate the whole thing remains clearly legible.

In fact, the whole thing reads so much like a normal report that Josephine isn’t fazed. She reaches for a fresh scroll, readies her quill with ink and begins to write.

The quill doesn’t meet the paper. Her hand is frozen in mid-air as Josephine, ever the master of diplomacy, able to coax even the hardest results out of thin air with a simple flourish of her immaculate handwriting, is left uncharacteristically speechless. Words simply won’t form in her brain.

As the ink falls from the quill into messy blobs on the page – ones she fails to register, or how they will inevitably dry into stains later – it hits her hard. She almost feels it physically, and the realisation is so strong that it leaves her gasping. Josephine reads over the report again and again, scanning the text as one might a cipher, desperately hoping it might just be a mistake from her tired eyes.

She wills the words to rearrange themselves, to give her happier news. It’s clearly a mistake; the Inquisitor can do anything. She knows that, and Thedas knows it too. So why is the report wrong? Cullen’s men never make mistakes, and neither does the Inquisitor’s personal party.

Even on the ninetieth time, the meaning remains the same, no matter how hard she tries to jumble the text. _The Inquisitor was sucked into the Fade, physically trapped there. Nobody knows how to free her._ At Adamant they are all playing a waiting game, sitting and looking to the sky as if expecting her to fall out of it once more. And why not? It happened once before; it can happen again.

Josephine trembles, and the quill falls to the floor with a clatter. _Why are my eyes blurring?_ Before long, tear drops join the inkblots on the parchment. She tries to distract herself, to hope for better news, a better reality, but deep in her heart she knows it to be a useless effort.

Still, Josephine is nothing if not stubborn, able to hold her own and defend herself tenaciously, armed only with a silver tongue. She has made even the proudest nobles fall to their knees in apology before her in the past, rendered enemies into steadfast allies with only her wit, and this is just the same. She would march to the halls of the Maker Himself if it meant her love would return safely home, whole and hale.

_Trapped, not dead_. Who knows what occurs in the Fade? What passes for rules and laws? Perhaps it is a complex business of negotiation, not dissimilar to her waking activities. The Inquisitor may be locked in a battle of wills with a demon, or have to prove herself somehow before being allowed to leave. To be conscious and physically present in a world of dreams and illusions is an ill thing, and she will be more tantalising to a demon than all the riches and treasures of Thedas combined. They would seek out her mind the way a daring thief seeks jewels, and they would corrupt it, warp it, twist it until she returned home like a wretched husk, a wreck of her former self.

The Chantry would tell her to pray, but Josephine cannot find it in herself to pray to the Maker right now, or even Andraste, knowing the two of them are currently sitting and watching her lover’s plight. Would they extend a hand to her aid and support, or remain unmoved, content to merely be spectators to the downfall of a mere mortal?

Has the Inquisitor angered them somehow? Has _Josephine_ angered them somehow? Is this just a sick test of faith, like one of the children’s stories?

The thoughts race through her mind, and it is all too much. Josephine loses her impeccable veneer, and her polished mask crumbles away. When Leliana finds her, she is sobbing, utterly inconsolable, and it is all the other woman can do to gently drag her away from the desk, take her to her quarters and lay her to rest.

* * *

 

As Josephine lies down beneath the covers, dressed in a nightgown Leliana helped her into, she worries even more. What will happen to the papers, or the meetings? She imagines Skyhold’s efficient system breaking down, with all the unseen cogs and gears grinding to a creaking halt. _My fault_ , she blames herself. _It’s all my fault_.

The thought only makes her cry harder. Leliana presses a cool hand to her forehead, murmuring soothing words in a gentle tone, and presses a flask to her lips. The liquid tastes sweet, enticing, and she greedily drinks the lot.

Her mind feels thick like cotton wool now, and the thoughts come more slowly, practically dragging themselves across her mind as her eyelids become heavier. She realises the woman has given her a sleeping potion and wants to protest, telling her that she _has_ to stay awake. Skyhold can’t afford her to be ill or sleeping when she is supposed to be in the middle of working. Josephine needs to be awake for when the Inquisitor comes.

She tries to form the words, but her tongue moves like lead in her mouth. The only sounds she can make are ugly gurgling noises, utterly meaningless.

Leliana strokes her hair, still cooing and humming, sometimes lapsing into Orlesian as she gently guides her friend into sleep. The woman waits until Josephine as soundly asleep and uttering gentle snores before she presses a kiss to her forehead and leaves, giving stern orders that her friend is not to be disturbed. ‘On pain of death,’ she hisses icily to the guards, and she means it. They watch her go, looking uncertainly between them, trying not to gulp.

Oh, they _know_.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next week or so, Josephine is almost like a dead woman walking. She has lost count of the days; the passage of time is utterly meaningless, just another cruel game from the Maker as He parts her further from the Inquisitor.

She is too stubborn to let her struggle get in the way of daily life, though, despite Leliana’s fierce pleading. ‘Skyhold must continue as normal,’ Josephine reminds her, ‘and the Inquisitor is not lost.’ Her friend shakes her head sadly as Josephine reaches for another sheet. Ultimately, though, she leaves her be. Everyone grieves differently, and perhaps this distraction is healthy. Even Leliana cannot deny the urgency of the situation, or how brutally it demands a return to normal. Still, she wonders if Josephine’s distractions are actually getting in the way of her grieving; if she never faces up to the situation, will she ever accept the truth? Or will she gracefully dodge it and make a fiction for herself instead, a world where her beloved Inquisitor still lives, still unharmed, and is slowly making her way back to her side?

Leliana wonders if it is hypocritical for her to think this way. After all, the Warden – _her_ Warden – is off travelling Thedas, trying to cure the Calling once and for all. _It’s different_ , she insists. _The Warden isn’t stuck in the Fade._

She leaves Josephine be and returns to her ravens, tending her own worries. She grasps them, wringing them out like soaked cloths, methodically stripping each fear of its power over her until she is calm again, fully reassured. She smiles and gestures for a bird to hop down to her as she hastily pens a letter and whispers the Warden’s name into its ear, knowing however far the journey has gone by now, the letter will find its recipient safe and sound. Alive. Unharmed.

* * *

 

When Josephine’s own raven comes, she dreads to look at the news. Recognising the writing coming from the Inquisitor’s party, she cannot bear to open it. She has been sitting on tenterhooks for far too long, walking painfully close to the precipice where all her doubts and fears lie, and now she thinks they will devour her if she reads it. The last raven brought her worst fears to life, and this will be no different. This will be the day the Inquisitor dies, right there on the page, and when they bring her body back, it will only be a confirmation of what she has been struggling to deny.

She takes the letter to Leliana, hands trembling. She is all jittery, full of nerves and anticipation. Josephine refuses to admit that a small part of her, a tiny fraction, is actually excited and still hopeful. That tiny part thinks that her Inquisitor is okay and _will be_ okay.

The war between hope and despair makes her heart pump far too fast and her head spins, overcome with warring emotions. She sits down, agitated, and watches Leliana read slowly, mouth opening halfway through. Her friend is utterly methodical, taking her time to make sure she has not misread or misunderstood any sentence, or even any single word.

Then she hands the paper back to her, eyes wide and mouth crinkling into a warm smile. ‘She’s safe,’ Leliana tells her, and Josephine feels as if she is a thousand miles away. ‘She’s coming home. She should be here very, very soon.’

Her words feel very faint and Josephine is dizzy once more. She stands up, uneasy on her feet, swaying slightly, and Leliana catches her readily as she falls towards the rotunda’s edge. Her friend is light in the other woman’s arms, and she notices with alarm the fact that tears are falling onto her sleeves as Josephine sinks.

‘She’s safe,’ Josephine murmurs as she loses consciousness, and Leliana is reassured. All is finally well again.

_At least for now_ , she thinks as she gently carries Josephine to safety, _until the Inquisitor goes off adventuring again_. Then she chides herself for thinking that way, allows herself to be pleased for her friend and relieved that their leader is returning, and keeps walking on without another thought at all.


	4. Chapter 4

She imagines she can see the banners long before they’re actually visible, but in her mind’s eye, Josephine can see them fluttering in the wind as clear as day. The eye of the Inquistion is staring back at her, offering its unfeeling, cold gaze of judgement, yet she feels nothing but relief. She would let the eyes of a thousand demons stare at her if it meant the Inquisitor’s safe return; perhaps it has. She files away a mental note to ask her about it, whenever she’s ready to talk. _If_ she is.

For now, though, Josephine Montilyet is triumphant. The Inquisitor is safe, and the subsequent raven that arrived a day before her actual arrival explained that she was physically unaffected. It mentioned nothing about her mind, which Josephine noticed uneasily: it could mean there was a change and they didn’t know how to discuss it in an urgent brief, or it could mean there _wasn’t_. It was the uncertainty that bothered her, gnawing away in the little cracks and crevices all her other doubts had formed over the years, but she batted it aside.

Today is a good day, and she’s content to let it stay that way. The seriousness, the heartache… that can all come later, all in good time. _Nothing_ will ruin this moment.

Imagining herself to be a writer like Varric, she tries to savour it: she feels the crisp, cold wind of Skyhold whispering past her on a gentle breeze and the steadiness of the ground beneath her feet, the fresh outdoors feeling and all its smells after so long cooped up indoors.

It’s no use. Not even the warm glow of sunlight is enough to distract her from the way her heart is pounding like a very insistent drum, _badum-dum-dum_ , or the excitement rising up inside her, coming to the surface like little bubbles just aching to burst.

_She’s here_ , Josephine thinks – no, _feels_. She can _sense_ the Inquisitor’s presence deep in her bones, or at least that’s how she imagines it. She is so, _so_ close, and yet… and yet…

* * *

 

It’s another hour or so before the Inquisitor actually gets through the gates of Skyhold, and yet Josephine could feel it right from the beginning. It felt like a song, or a scent, both carried on the air and lingering momentarily behind, just long enough to be enjoyed.

_She’s here_ , Josephine thinks, but now it’s real. The Inquisitor is slowly dismounting, and there’s a huge cheer. She hears her own voice cheering, feels her hands clapping, but all she’s interested in now is _her_. How does she feel? Is she tired? Does she need anything?

She hears herself barking orders that she doesn’t even register, for a moment sounding as stern and commanding as Cullen, yet people scramble to obey. They take away the Inquisitor’s horse with promises of a good feed and scrub up, and they practically _lunge_ to gather up the party’s supplies and divide it between storage and immediate use. The party members disperse, soon followed by the rest of Skyhold (who knew they could move so quickly, so quietly?) and then it’s the moment.

The Moment. Just the two of them, at last.

“Hello, my love,” Josephine calls gently, not wanting to move too quickly. If her lover is injured, or shaken up, or, or…. She shouldn’t try to make this romantic. The Inquisitor might need space to breath, to recover privately, to –

“Hello, Josie,” her lover replies, smiling shakily, and she _melts_.

“Come here,” she calls, fighting back the waver in her voice, and opens her arms wide. She sees the Inquisitor run forwards, feels her collide clumsily into her body, and then their lips are touching. Gentle, soft as a butterfly’s wing, or Josephine’s silk dresses.

When they part, it doesn’t feel like the moment has ended. “I think I’d like a nice, long bath,” the Inquisitor says with her Inquisitor Voice, pretending like she’s giving orders, “then a nice, long rest.” She winks at Josephine, whose heart flutters. “Perhaps I might have some… assistance? It’s been a long journey, and I had a tough time even _before_ the horse got tired.”

It’s the closest they’ll come to discussing Adamant for the moment. Joking around the issue, hinting but not probing. That discussion needs a better setting; a bit more privacy, a bit more space to breathe in. More time to talk. It will be a painful talk on both sides, and one they both know needs to be had.

Still, it can wait.

Josephine grins and tries to hide her enthusiasm. Tries... and fails. She claps her hands happily. “Of course! I’m so glad you’re home.” She pulls the Inquisitor in for a deep hug, one that expresses all the emotions they can’t put into words right now, before giving her a sweet cheek kiss. “Come along, now,” she calls, pulling her along by the hand, and the Inquisitor lets herself be dragged away from the courtyard and up to her quarters, where – lo and behold – there’s a bath already waiting.

“I had the servants make it once our scouts found your party,” she admits sheepishly, “and then warded so that it wouldn’t cool down in the meantime.” She gestures to the towels and bathrobes neatly folded on a nearby chair and looks down at the floor, moving her hands restlessly.

“Thank you, Josie,” the Inquisitor smiles. “That was kind of you.” She cups her chin, tilting it upwards until the two women are facing each other eye to eye, and kisses her. “You needn’t worry so much about me, though. A bit of cold water won’t kill me.” Another joke with more laughter. Still, it means her lover is happy. Happy and safe right here with her.

It makes Josephine the happiest she’s been in a long time.  


End file.
